


What Have I Told You?

by sadistically_sweet



Series: The Adventures of 'Little' Sherlock and 'Daddy' John. [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Daddy Kink, Dummies, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Scolding, Spanking, Switching Roles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 01:02:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1799737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadistically_sweet/pseuds/sadistically_sweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are times when John <em>royally</em> sticks his foot in it...be it verbally, or otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Have I Told You?

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! Well, here we go ladies and gentlemen, a twenty-page story that I've been hacking away at, as well as working on Chapter Three of 'Molly's Turn' (which I will be updating quite soon). 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy...I, in the meantime, will be working my hands out with something other than a pen for the next four days, as I head to Texas for a big, annual spanking convention!  
> HO-yeah! ;)

_*buzz*_

John clenched his jaw, and continued to fill out the form lying on his desk.

_*buzz*_

The small, plump, bespectacled woman perched on the edge of the examining table looked slightly uncomfortable as she shifted, causing the sanitary paper lining underneath her to rustle...normally, John wouldn't have noticed the sound, with it being such a common one that he heard on a daily basis, but now, the underlying tension in the room only served to magnify it tenfold, making it seem like a heavy truck rolling over a pile of gravel and broken glass.

_*buzz*_

The woman put her hand to her chin; "Um, do you need to answer that, Dr. Watson?" she asked, with both an air of concern and what John assumed was a touch of impatience.

He gave her a tight smile just and forced a laugh, just as his phone buzzed and vibrated again; "Oh no, no...I'd be willing to bet money that it's no more urgent than a disgruntled friend--" _*buzz*_ "--who tends to forget everyone else around him--" _*buzz*_ "--has a life of their own," he said, and took a moment's pride in how very controlled he thought he sounded, when in fact all he wanted to do was throw the fucking thing to the ground and stomp on it until there was nothing left but a fine powder. The woman smiled back, albeit it a bit timidly, and John changed topics; "Now, Mrs. Edwards," he said, all business once again as he resumed reading over her paperwork, "...you said the headaches have been near-constant for how many weeks now?"

The moon-faced woman, relieved to have the attention drawn back to the issues that brought her here in the first place, opened her mouth to respond--

_*buzz BUZZ **BUZZ**!*_

So, now the fucking _phone_ was starting to sound demanding! The doctor closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath to keep from screaming; "I am _so_ sorry, let me just...yeah, just really quick," he apologized hastily as he reached into his pocket for the current bane of his existence. Mrs. Edwards, to her credit, nodded and congenially offered, "No, of course, Doctor...sounds like it could be an emergency, them tryin' that hard to reach you!"

 _'Oh, it had better fuckin' be.'_ "Maybe, but let's hope not, shall we?" he said in faux politeness as he thumbed through his messages...thirty-seven in all, and each and every single one was from you-guessed-right. John ignored the first thirty-six and read just enough of the most recent one to get the gist that Sherlock was neither dead nor in danger of dying-- _'Not fuckin' yet, anyway!'_ \--and replied with a short, terse message that consisted of only two words...words that happened to rhyme with 'duck' and 'cough'.

And, he made sure to type them in all capitals.

 _And_ , he made sure to tap the screen with his fingers as aggressively as he could (without breaking it--Sherlock had already given him a warning about his temper after paying to have his screen replaced a _second_ time), just so the detective could feel John's vehemence through the keypad itself. With a smirk, the doctor then turned his phone off (should'a done that earlier, but turning his phone off during work hours was another 'no-no' on Sherlock's list...oh, well) and dropped it into the drawer of his desk, which was pushed shut with a triumphant flourish. _He_ had just gotten the last word.

Mrs. Edwards blinked at him owlishly at his arrogant display; "Everything settled up, doctor?"

John smiled at her again, with none of the former intensity; "Of course, yeah...like I said, an impatient flatmate...so," he said with a clap of his hands, "...where were we? Oh, yes, the headaches!...Can you show me where the pain begins?"

*******

Not quite ten minutes later, after checking his patient's eyes, nose, and throat and asking an endless parade of inane (but relevant) questions while he poke and prodded her, John Watson wrote something in ineligible doctor-scratch on the file in his clipboard before setting it aside; he leaned forward in his chair, keeping his posture nice and relaxed, and pressed the fingertips of his left hand to their counterparts on his right--the perfect 'everything-is-fine-you-are-not- dying' pose that everyone in the medical field utilized at some point in their career. He smiled at her, and the woman's stiff, worried stature relaxed as well, just as he'd planned. "Alright, Mrs. Edwards, I think I know what we're dealing with here, and there's a very simple, painless solution..."

The woman leaned forward expectantly, causing her glasses to slide dangerously close to the tip of her nose; "Yes?!..."

John got that cocky little side-grin; the kind of grin that meant if a person could pat themselves on the back without appearing to be a complete tool, they would. "It's just going to be a simple matter of..."

The door to the room flung open and banged harshly against the wall behind it. Both John and Mrs. Edwards very nearly jumped out of their respective skins; "Just what the _hell_ do you mean...!!!" the very indignant doctor spat as he whirled around to berate the intruder...

...and felt his words wither and die in his throat as he discovered that it was none other than Sherlock looming in the doorway, glowering at him.

John swallowed heavily and tried to reserve some level of decorum in the face of what was almost certainly going to be his doom; "Can...can I help you, sir?" he asked, hoping that the added 'sir' at the end would help dissipate some of the thunder from the detective's gaze...

...it did not.

Sherlock smiled anyway--if you can call that tight twist of his lip a smile, that is. "I trust that you can...it seems that my phone is broken."

His audience of two glanced at each other, then refocused on the towering man, their expressions puzzled; "Your phone...?" they asked in unison.

"Yes, my phone," Sherlock said, extracting said object from the depths of his cloak...I mean, _coat_!...and brushed his thumb over the screen. "I think there must be an error with my messaging system...because no _sane_ individual would blatantly ignore several important text messages before telling me to...oh, what did it say, again? Ah, yes!...to _'fuck off'_ ," the man said in a low purr that didn't quite fit with the nature of his words, and turned the screen towards them.

John felt his cheeks grow hot and his mouth flopped open and closed in a brilliant impression of a dying fish before he rediscovered his voice; "I, uh...well," he stammered, "I didn't mean...look, Sherlock, I'm with a patient--can we do this at home?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

The detective looked past John's shoulder, as if noticing the other occupant of the room for the first time...which actually wasn't that unlikely of a scenario...and frowned at the woman; "...What's _your_ problem?" he asked flatly.

"H-head, um, headaches?" she answered, without even pausing to consider _why_ she felt she was obligated to reply to this odd new stranger...which is precisely what Sherlock intended. Keep people off their guard, and they'll sing like canaries. The detective narrowed his eyes at her, and John could see his pupils darting back and forth through the thin slits as he 'scanned' the woman first, and then strode into the room as if it were his own office and came to a stop right in front of the increasingly unsettled Mrs. Edwards; "...Your spectacles are in excellent condition," he observed.

"I, uh...thank you?"

Sherlock continued on, ignoring the brief interruption; "But the glass face of your watch is scuffed, as is the surface of your diamond ring...which isn't really diamond, terribly sorry to tell you...you don't take meticulous care of your accessories, so the glasses must be new."

Mrs. Edwards' mouth dropped open in amazement, while John's fell open again at the sheer _gall_ of this man! "But, how did you...?!"

"New glasses, yet you're still squinting and unfocused...the eyestrain is obviously causing the headaches. If I were you, I would go straight to the amateur responsible, and demand the correct prescription."

John folded his arms and slouched in his seat with a huff; the giant ponce had stolen his thunder... _again_.

The woman began her exclamations and praise, hailing Sherlock as "you lovely, _brilliant_ genius-man!" and went on and on about how she'd "absolutely _known_ something about those glasses was off!", and ending with the announcement that she was "going to straight there, right this minute, and give them a piece of her mind!" The detective nodded mindlessly along through it all as he gathered her handbag and coat, and every so often interjecting with a bland "Yes, of course," or a "As well you should," while he practically redressed her himself and shoved her out the door with one last "And don't you take 'no' for an answer!" before shutting it directly in her face.

Now that the stout little woman had been removed, the silence left in her wake was palpable--dull and throbbing, like the discomfort one felt after having a particularly annoying cyst excised. John cleared his throat, just to have some level of noise as a buffer; "What are you doing here for, anyway?" he grunted.

The detective kept his back to him, and neglected to answer. John was just about to repeat himself, _loudly_ , when another, smaller sound broke the silence and demanded his attention...

...the tiny click of the lock being turned.

John's voice caught in his throat as Sherlock finally turned around to face him, his eyes burning with cool fire.

 _'Cool fire,'_...huh, you know, if anyone was to ever bottle the taller man's essence and market in in the pages of GQ--that would be a good name for it.

"Where is your _phone!?!_ " the detective snapped, putting a halt to John's aroumatic musings. The doctor looked shocked for a moment, but only a moment, before turning sullen before glancing over at the drawer...his urge to speak up and avoid the silent tension was being overridden by the fact that he didn't want to talk to the jerk.

Sherlock took his cue and stalked over to the desk in the opposite corner, flung the drawer open, and retrieved the device...then went completely still. "... _Why_ is it 'off'?" he asked, staring down at the object laying in his palm.

John squirmed in his seat...this whole situation was beginning to lead down a very familiar, very _painful_ road, and he didn't like it one bit. "I was gonna turn it back on when she left," he mumbled.

"Mm-hmm," Sherlock hummed, "...but that's not what the rule is, is it?" He turned the device on, entered John's passcode (to be fair, John knew his, as well), and scrolled through his previous texts; the detective's face grew steadily darker, and the heaviness in the doctor's stomach grew heavier, still. "You didn't even read the others...did you even read the last one? Or did you simply open it to shout abuse at me?"

" 'Course I read it!" John protested.

"Really?...what did it say?"

John's stomach dropped even further...he had _not_ anticipated that question, stupidly enough. "I, uh...I don't remember," he admitted sheepishly. "...But I do remember that it didn't sound all that important!"

Sherlock made a derisive snort through his nose and set John's phone down on his desk carefully. Without looking in the doctor's direction, the detective made his way back over to the door; _'Great...he got me all wound up and now he's leavin', and he's going to make some smarmy quip about getting a spanking when I get home, and I'm gonna make myself sick with worryin' all afternoon now,'_ John thought dejectedly.

As it turned out, though, John didn't have to wait for long...instead of unlocking the door and taking his leave in a billow of black fabric as expected, Sherlock began peeling off his coat and hanging it up neatly, followed by his suitcoat.

Oh, dear...that couldn't mean anything good. "Sh-sherlock? What, uh...what'er you doin'?" John stammered as his hear took up that familiar fluttery-feeling he got whenever he knew he was in trouble...

... _or_ , whenever he knew they were going to have sex, but he didn't really need to be a genius to figure out that that particular activity wasn't on Sherlock's mind at the moment.

The detective unbuttoned one of his cuffs and began rolling the sleeve up one well-toned forearm. "Don't ask silly questions, young man...you've broken two very serious rules in the course of one afternoon, you know what that means."

"What...not _here!?!_ " John squeaked, the realisation flooring him; the very idea of getting, of getting _spanked_ while here at work set off quite a variety of reactions--watching Sherlock roll up his sleeves and calling him 'young man' (in his 'Daddy' tone, no less!), as well as considering the aspect of being bent over and smacked in semi- public had a strange attractiveness about it, and his cock gave a slight twitch of agreement (the poor deluded bastard), yet the knowledge that this wasn't going to be a 'fun' spanking clutched at his fluttery little heart in a cold grip and squeezed tightly.

"I warned you," Sherlock replied, working the second sleeve up his arm and securing it in place. "I warned you, that if you gave me a reason, I would _not_ hesitate to come down here and deliver a sound spanking...and you agreed, did you not?"

John had agreed... _goddammit_ , but he had. "But Sherlock!..." he pleaded, hoping for leniency, just this once, and he'd never do it again!...

The detective paused, his fingers still working at the tightly rolled fabric just below his elbow...he slowly tilted his head to the side to openly stare at John, his eyes still smoldering--only you couldn't describe the fire behind them as 'cool' any longer. John shrank back against his chair; he knew exactly what _that_ look had been for. "Sorry...Daddy," he said quietly.

Sherlock nodded slightly, acknowledging that he'd heard...and even though John knew very well what was coming up, the next words out of the detective's mouth still sent a shiver down his spine--

"Stand up, and take down your trousers."

Yet, John didn't budge. "B-but..." he said, looking to the door...he could just imagine Sarah and all the rest of them sitting out there and listening in on all the loud, echoing smacks that were sure to be unmistakable for what was going on, locked door or not, "...can't we wait, Daddy? Please, can do we it at home?...I won't fuss about it there, I promise! Please, can we please wait? Do it at home, please?..." he begged, and one could hear the first shaky signs of soon-to-come tears in his voice.

The detective caught the glance at the door, and looked back over his own shoulder in that direction; "Don't you worry about that...worry about the sorry state your bum is going to be in, and what you did to put it there," he said without sympathy, and turned his attention back to the little doctor, frowning as he noticed his instructions still weren't being followed. "Jawn... _one_."

John's face scrunched tightly with frustration; it wasn't that he was trying to weasel out of a spanking completely! He could admit that he'd been a bit over the line, and he _had_ knowingly broken the rules, so this was pretty-well deserved...he just didn't want anyone outside of Sherlock to _know_ about it!

" _Two_...little boy, if I count to 'three', and those trousers aren't down at your knees...I will step right back into the hallway and see if anyone would be so kind as to lend me a hairbrush!" Sherlock warned, his brow furrowing as he waited.

"NO!...I, I mean, no _sir_ , please don't!" Oh God, he couldn't...no, John didn't even _want_ to imagine Sherlock going that far!

Sherlock stood, hands on his hips, waiting; "Well...?"

John let out a pitiful mewl of a sigh and heaved himself out of the armless desk chair and onto slightly trembling legs, and slowly reached for the button on his fly...then froze and peered up at Sherlock again, his expression hopeless eyes already watery; "Please, _please_ , don't do it here, Da'!...please, let's do it at home! I'll take the belt instead, or, or...or I'll even find a cane! But please, _please_ don't spank me _here!_ " he begged shamelessly, the pitch of his voice climbing higher and tighter until it finally broke.

Sherlock met the little doctor's gaze steadily, unblinking, and then inhaled deeply; "...Three," he said with an air of finality and turned on his heel, arm already outstretched towards the door.

"N-n-no, NO, no no no nonono _nonono!_ " John fumbled with the button and zipper on his jeans in a frenzy of movement and , within seconds, had them jerked down around his knees, only leaving his boxers up. "They'redownthey'redownIpulledthemdownDaddypleasedon'tdoit!" he babbled as his rapidly-filling eyes finally became overwhelmed with their burden and let a single tear from each one escape and slide down John's cheeks in twin trails.

Sherlock paused and looked back over his shoulder, regarding the smaller man for a moment...then whipped back around and, as quickly as John had hustled to get his trousers down, the detective crossed the room and was gripping the little doctor's upper arm as he spun him around and delivered two sharp, stinging slaps to the backs of his thighs that had John yelping and dancing forward as much as his Daddy's hold allowed. "Do _not_ keep testing me, young man!" Sherlock fussed, and punctuated each word with yet another resounding smack.

"Ow ow ow ow ow ow **ow** , sorrysorryI'msorryI'lllistenIpromiseIwillDaddy _sorry!_ " John squealed...God, he always underestimated just how _large_ Sherlock's hands were! When the slaps finally stopped, and the backs of his thighs felt like one collective throbbing, burning mass, John hung his head and cried quietly, reaching back with one hand to rub his leg and reaching up with the other to rub at his eyes.

While he was rubbing various things, John felt rather than saw Sherlock let go of him and step away...only to return a few seconds later, wheeling John's desk chair along with him. He heard the detective sit down, and then two large, yet careful hands took his wrists and gently turned the little doctor around again, until he was facing the other man...or at least, the other man's shoes, since John still had his head bowed.

"Jawn...look at me, please," a voice said...a voice that still had a firm edge to it, but still sounded so much calmer than it had minutes ago. John sniffled loudly, blinked to clear his vision, and then did as he'd been asked; Sherlock was staring back at him, his head tilted slightly in order to get a full view of John's face. "Yes, there you are...hello," he said, his voice still low and calm. "Can you tell me what went wrong back there, hmm?"

John's bottom lip quivered; they were very rare, but there were times when he _hated_ Sherlock for being so nice and loving to him--usually when he was in trouble, and the kindness only accentuated how naughty he'd been, to have to force his Daddy's hand into disciplining him. "I, I..." he had to pause and snuffle for a bit before going on, "I d-didn't listen, and you, you had to count to th-three," he answered tearfully.

Sherlock nodded; "That's right, and you're a very lucky little boy to have a Da' that loves you so much...you really _should_ have the flat side of a brush taken to that cheeky bum of yours!"

John's eyes filled again and he looked back down at the floor...he couldn't argue with that, and it would be foolish to even attempt it.

He heard the detective sigh; "No brush _this_ time, but don't count on that again. However, you're still getting a spanking." When John sniffled and nodded his understanding, Sherlock went on; "Look back at Da' and tell him what the spanking's for."

The little doctor shuffled his feet, causing his trousers to slip another inch or so down past his knees and he blushed as he peered back up at Sherlock...now that he was firmly planted into his 'Jawn' headspace, he was very much ashamed of the way he'd behaved. " 'Cause I turned my phone off, and I'm not s'posed to," he answered sadly.

"Smart boy, right again...and do you remember _why_ Daddy says to keep it on?"

" 'Cause if I get grabbed off the street 'gain, I need every ah'vantage I can use to get away."

"Exactly, very good!...it's one more way for Da' to keep you safe, and it's very, _very_ scary when you turn your phone off without letting me know first, like you're supposed to...understand?"

John nodded his head vehemently; he was all too aware of just how quickly and easily he could be captured, and why the phone rule wasn't a control factor...it was a safety precaution.

"There's a good lad...now, what else did you do that you know Daddy doesn't like?" Sherlock asked, squeezing John's hands in his own...a reassuring gesture, for certain, but as for who it was supposed to be reassuring, himself or the detective--John wasn't quite sure. "I...was _very_ rude, Daddy," he answered, barely above a whisper, and felt his cheeks grow hot.

"Yes you were!" Sherlock confirmed, back to his scolding tone. "And what's _that_ rule?" Rhetorical question, apparently, because he went on to answer before John could even articulate a response. "When John is big, he can swear all he wants, to whomever he wants... _except_ to me. You know it's unacceptable to direct it _at_ me, and I know that you know why."

John cringed; this really was THE worst rule he could have broken.

"Tell me _why_ it's unacceptable, Jawn."

 _*sniff*_ " 'C-cause...last time I said it to you, we had a big fight, and it made you sad..."

A shadow flickered briefly behind the detective's eyes, and then was gone; "Yes, it did make me sad...and it still hurts Daddy's feelings when you keep saying _those_ words to me," he said as he looked down at their hands and lightly rubbed his thumbs over the insides of John's wrists.

It was that small, intimate motion that proved to be the final straw; John gave up on any pretense of composure as his heart broke all over again, just as it had _that_ day, while fat, heavy tears rolled down his face in clusters..." 'm s-sor-, s-sorry," he sobbed. "D-didn't, didn't m-mean it!"

Sherlock gave him a sad, wistful smile; "I know you didn't," he said gently, reaching up to wipe at one of John's cheek in a futile attempt to dry his tears. "...but that's why we have that rule, why you agreed to it--it just reminds Da' of how sad he was when you said that to him."

A particularly harsh sob caused the little doctor to become strangled, and he coughed to clear his throat while nodding at Sherlock's words (it was a lot easier than any sort of verbal communication at this point, anyway); he remembered this, all of it, from when the two men had sat down and discussed a short set of rules for 'Jawn', the same way there were a few for 'little' Sherlock...and hearing the reasoning behind them being repeated back to him now stung just as much as it had back then. Of _course_ he knew better before sending that text, and knew just how much it affected Sherlock when John said anything along the lines of 'fuck you' or 'fuck off', but....no, wait--there's no 'but' about it, _dammit_...no excuses. He just couldn't control his own mouth (or his fingers, in this case).

Yes, he absolutely, without question, deserved a spanking. If Sherlock would just let go of his wrists, John would climb over his lap on his own volition, without the least bit of worry about who happened to overhear. He'd do anything, _anything_ , to make this right, as long as Sherlock didn't hurt anymore...even if it meant that _he_ hurt instead.

"S-spank now?" John managed to choke in between hitches in his gross, heavy sobbing.

The detective looked into John's eyes, searching...whatever he was looking for, he must have found, because after taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, he nodded; "Yes, 'spank now'...let's get this over with, little boy."

John sniffed hugely and swiped at his nose with the back of his sleeve before moving to lower his own boxers (even he felt he should be bare for this one), only to have Sherlock slap his hand away; "Ah-ah, I didn't tell you to do that...you let Da' take care of those," his Daddy said as he let go of John's other wrist and held him by his hips instead, then maneuvered the little doctor until his was standing at his right side; "Come along, you know what's next...up and over." John's face puckered into a dour little pout as he carefully leaned forward and lowered himself over Sherlock's lap...even though he knew his behavior had rightly earned it, he still _hated_ the whole over-the-knee business; it just made him feel so, so helpless, so vulnerable, so exposed...

...and so _little_.

Sherlock went about making his adjustments, of course--making sure that John's bum was centered right over his thigh, nice and presented while his non-spanking arm was laid across the little doctor's back, pinning him with an elbow between his shoulder-blades and a hand on his hip (also at the ready to catch a stray hand that may or may not fly back and attempt to thwart any blows); John moaned and groaned and whimpered through it all, knowing that each 'adjustment' was making it just _that_ much more disastrous for his backside. He held fast to Sherlock's other thigh, the one supporting his upper region, and kept his arms tucked in close (less likely to flail that way) and stared down at the floor, snivelling about his circumstances to it, when he noticed something a bit off...

...his feet weren't touching the floor, even though he held his legs straight down, and not bent.

Huh, that's odd...and alarming.

Now that he'd noticed, the floor also seemed a lot further away than it should be for the level he kept the chair at-- John tilted his head to look down (or up? being upended and partially nude tended to have a disorientating effect) at the underside of the chair...and found that it had been raised to its fullest extent, as high as it could possibly go.

_'...Bugger.'_

John was just opening his mouth to protest that this was completely unnecessary, that he wouldn't try to use his feet for leverage to twist away, that he didn't have to, you know, _dangle_ in the air like this!...until he felt long, proficient fingers slip into the waistband of his boxers and slowly ( _painfully_ slow!), carefully slide them down the swell of his upturned bottom, and came to rest right at the crease where arse meets thigh. The little doctor's protest withered on his tongue and turned into sighs of resignation; "Sorry, Da'..." he snuffled, and truly meant it.

A warm hand was gingerly placed right in the center of both cheeks and let it rest there a moment; "...As am I," Sherlock sighed, and gave the pale mounds a soft pat, almost as if in apology, then lifted his hand high in the air...

John squeezed his eyes shut tightly and held his breath, determining right then to keep as quiet as possible and deny any stragglers out there a proper show--

\--until the first heavy swat landed and drove that silly little idea right out the window. Jawn, stoic? During a Sherlock-spanking? HA!

To his credit, though, John did _try_ to 'take it like a man', so to speak...there was nothing to be done about the loud, unquestionable clapping sounds that were echoing off the walls, _obviously_ , but he did manage to stave off anymore loud sobbing and wailing, keeping any exclamations to tense 'ow!'s hissed from between clenched teeth with every stinging smack...

This technique lasted, oh, maybe the first ten flesh-scorching swats before John became horrifically aware that Sherlock was smacking the _exact. same. spot._ (the direct center of his bum, with his fingers splayed so that his already- exceptionally-large hand covered nearly every square inch of exposed skin) over and over and over and over again, his arm moving like a metronome and giving the little doctor no time to recover from one white-hot searing smack to the next...the muted cries of 'ow!' soon turned into cries of _'Ah! Ah! Ah! AH! AH! AH! AH- **HUH**! AH- **HUH**! AH- **HUH**!'_ while tears flowed nonstop.

And _that_ was only during the second set of ten.

By swat number 'fifty-or-sixty-something-what-the-fuck-ever-this-is- **agony** ', John could no longer distinguish one slap from another through the ungodly aching and burning in his lower regions, nor could he even hear them over the sound of his own howling and begging and Sherlock's scolding; "I'd better not ever, ***SMACK*** , ever, ***SMACK*** , ever ***SMACK*** ever get told to 'fuck off' again, do you hear me!?!" ***SMACK SMACK SMACK***

John shrieked and squealed and kicked his denim-trapped legs in the air while he tried his best to answer...if Sherlock could gather a coherent sentence from the steam of wet, sloppy blubbering that poured from the little doctor's mouth.; " _Ah- **ow**_ ,yesyesyesyesIpromise, _AHHA-HA-HA-H'OW-OW-OW **OWWW**!_ Daddypleasestop, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease, IpromiseIpromiseIpromiseI'llbegood, _AH-huh-huh-huh-h'oooooow!_ "

Sherlock turned his heart against the gut-wrenching pleas and focused on the deep-red splotch in the approximate size and shape of his handprint emblazoned upon John's backside; "...And are you going to turn your phone off again without asking ***SMACK*** Daddy ***SMACK*** first?!" ***SMACK***

"Nononononono,neveragainneveragainneveragainIswearIpromiseneveragainnevernever _neeeeeeveeeeeeeer!_ "

"I hope for you and your bum's sake that you're telling me the truth...or I might just take you up on that cane offer next time!"

The detective finished off with a final round of heavy-handed swats (making it an even sixty; _he_ hadn't been the one to lose count) that had John twisting and bucking like a man on...well, like a man on fire.

...one end of him, anyway.

It took more than just a moment after the last slap had fallen before John perceived that it was all over and went totally limp over Sherlock's lap, crying in that awful, guttural way of someone who may have just lost their best friend, or a pet...after the detective shook his hand out and opened it and closed it into a fist to stretch it out and get the feeling back into it (John may be a small man with a small arse, but he was _solid_ , my word!), he began to rub and pat gently on the little doctor's heaving back, slightly damp from sweat, and waited until the worst of it passed.

Slowly, John's sobbing started to abate, and the temporary Consulting Daddy was left with a lap full of very sorrowful, piteous little hobbit with a soaking wet, red little face that sniffled and snuffled and heaved, along with what looked to be a permanently stuck-out bottom lip. Sherlock thumped his hand lightly against the middle of John's back and bounced his knee a bit, in the way he'd seen suggested for fussy little ones. "...Does Jawn want to sit up now?" he asked softly. "Da' would like it very much if he could hold you."

"Uh-h-huh," came a tiny, weak, watery reply. "Up, please?"

With a small amount of effort from both men, John was soon back on his feet in front of the chair and appeared very 'in his place', with his head and shoulders bowed and his trousers bunched down around his ankles from all his kicking about...one hand went straight back to his bottom, predictably, and the other went to scrub at his eyes with a fist while he shuddered with leftover sobs every few seconds, like a little lapdog.

" _Aw_ , look at that face!" Sherlock cooed as he stood and cupped the little doctor's dripping chin in his hand. "I know, darling, that was a nasty one; I didn't like it anymore than you did...but did you know, Da' thought to bring you something to make you feel better? I have to get it out of my coat pocket, love, just wait right here, for just a second!"

What John wanted to say was, "No, please don't go, I'd prefer you to stay right here, if you would!"...but the trembling little hobbit only got as far as "N-nn-nn," before Sherlock was away, taking his much-needed physical contact with him and leaving John lonely and wanting in the cold room. "D-da', _Da'_...!" he cried.

Instantly, there was a pair of thin, yet strong arms enveloping him and pulling him into a tight embrace; "Sh-sh-shhh, I'm already back, see? No time at all!" Sherlock said, and John leaned into his chest, feeling the rumbles of that deep voice against his cheek. "Poor Jawn," it said, and the little doctor felt a kiss being placed on the top of his head. "I'm sorry; I should know better than to leave a baby hobbit with a sore bum all by himself!"

John nodded, drying his cheek on Sherlock's shirt while he was at it. He started to agree; "Shoulda' known bet-!", and was expertly silenced by a rubbery nipple being pushed past his lips. The little doctor closed his mouth around it with a muffled 'mmph' and looked up at the other man in slight surprise.

"Looks like Da' knew well enough to bring this along, didn't he?" Sherlock chuckled, tapping his finger against the pale blue plastic that was now covering John's mouth. "...Now, does Jawn still want me to hold him, or should naughty hobbits go stand in the corner first so they can think twice before mucking about with dragons...?"

The corners of John's lips turned down into a sad pout behind his dummy and shook his head, still sniffling away through a stuffy-sounding nose and blinking away a few straggling tears. Sherlock had to laugh again, it was just too damned _cute_...as much as he enjoyed being the center of attention as 'the baby' for the most part, he couldn't envision his occasional role as 'Da' getting boring anytime soon, either. "That's what I thought, but lets pick these up so you don't fall flat on that cute little nose of yours," he said, tweaking said nose and stooping down to gather the little man's jeans and boxers from around his ankles. He didn't pull them all the way up; no, that would have been cruel, considering how raw John's skin still looked...and the way the little doctor arched and whimpered when the fabric came even a fraction too close for comfort told the detective he'd been correct in his observation. So, he left them pooling around the tops of his thighs, instead...just as long as they weren't hindering his ability to move.

"There," the detective murmured, giving John a kiss on the cheek and sitting back down in the office chair. He smiled and held his arms out, beckoning his little hobbit; "There's Da's good boy, come on!"

John shuffled over and climbed (gingerly) onto Sherlock, facing him and straddling his lap (a bit tricky with his jeans still lowered, but manageable) while the detective wrapped his arms around the warm, lean little body and gently pressed his hand against the back of the smaller man's head, making him lay on his shoulder. "...Better?" he asked in a low voice, and pressed his lips to John's temple.

The little doctor nodded, already beginning to feel the strangely-magical effects of Sherlock's touch working on him; he settled right in, molding his body to get as physically close to his comfort source as possible, and sighed as the steady, rhythmic thud of his Daddy's hand on his back started up again...

John closed his swollen, gritty-feeling eyes and nuzzled Sherlock with his cheek...in this moment, all was right with the world.

... _*hic*_

The little doctor's eyes popped back open, and he felt Sherlock's hand go still...

_*hic*_

John groaned quietly; no, not this, _please_ , not right now!...

_*hic*_

The detective shifted underneath him as he craned his head back to look down at the small, shaky form in his lap; "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" he asked, the side of his mouth curling into a goofy grin.

John buried his face into the crook of Sherlock's neck, concentrating and focusing _hard_ on the sensation building deep in his chest, determined not to--

_*hic*_

His chest and back bounced from the force of his hiccups, which only seemed to be getting stronger with each passing moment, and were beginning to actually hurt...Sherlock, however, was in heaven; "Oh _no_ , Jawn has hiccups? I'm sorry, baby...Da' didn't think to bring a bottle!" the detective exclaimed, sounding not the least bit sorry about the little doctor's predicament at all.

John pushed away from Sherlock's chest and sat up and stared at him with a doleful expression...he was still too sore and whimpery to give off any kind of attitude. "N'yo 'ease..." he started to say, until another hiccup shook through his frame, hard enough to make the small handle on his dummy bounce and click.

"Aw-ha-ha!" Sherlock laughed as he grasped John under the arms, preventing him from toppling over backwards. "I really am sorry, love, Da' didn't mean to tease...but you're just so _cute!_ "

John hesitated as he felt the faint, familiar glow of pleasure coming over him; the one he always got whenever Sherlock called him 'cute' or 'adorable', or any variation of those...it wasn't a sentiment he heard very often (or at all, really) when people spoke of him, and he still wasn't used to hearing it. "...I _*hic*_ am?" he asked shyly.

Sherlock chuckled and grinned broadly; "You _are_ , yes...the very cutest there is!" he said, bringing John in closer and rubbing the tips of their noses together, causing the little doctor to giggle and turn away with a not-so- serious "Noooooo- _*hic*_!"

The detective laughed again--those high-pitched little squeaks erupting from his hobbit were enough to send a man into a diabetic coma, they were so sweet. "Yeeees...and _there's_ a Jawn-smile; I missed those terribly!" he replied, following the turn of John's head and planting a kiss just under his ear. "Alright, little Baggins...stand up so I can get you some water for those hiccups."

The giggling ceased instantly as John turned back to stare at him, his eyes wide and face aghast. "Mm-mm!" he grunted, shaking his head 'no' and reaching for Sherlock...but the detective held him back at arms' length. "Ah-ah, use your words," he said, and plucked the dummy from John's mouth. "Why are you telling Daddy 'no'?"

The little doctor whimpered and held his fingers up to the vacant space of his mouth; "Don't want down!"

Sherlock wasn't shocked; he'd deduced as much. "...You know that if I carry you, it's going to put a _lot_ of pressure on your bum...are you sure you don't want to stand up for the thirty seconds it would take to get you a cup of water?"

John shook his head hard enough for his teeth to rattle; "Don't care, no dow- _*hic*_ -own!"

The detective looked skeptical...but oh well, the little red-bottomed halfling had made his decision; "Suit yourself...hold on to Da's neck, just like that, that's a good lad!" While he kept encouraging him, Sherlock adjusted his grip around John's waist, and slid the other arm underneath his backside for support. The little doctor huffed and squirmed uncomfortably; "No, no...none of that nonsense," Sherlock said, preparing to haul them out of the chair, "I told you it was going to hurt, and you said you didn't care."

John gave him an indignant sort-of pout...after all, what did the man expect? The little doctor was _always_ clingy when regressed, not to mention when he'd just had his clock so thoroughly cleaned, so to speak. Yet he ceased his grumbling anyway, and took a tiny bit of satisfaction out of Sherlock's grunts and laboured breathing as he attempted to stand up with no other assistance besides his own legs...at least, John found it amusing up until that pesky pressure that the detective had spoken of took affect and caused Sherlock's arm to mash up against his arse. He couldn't help but hiss at the sensation and drop his head back onto his Daddy's shoulder for comfort.

Sherlock raised his eyebrow and smirked, but took pity on the little man and shifted him over onto his hip to ease some of the pressure off. "Can't say I didn't warn you..." he said, then paused and listened, his ears perking up as if a hound on something's tail--he turned towards the door sharply, his eyes narrowing.

John sat up and peered around, puzzled; "Wha-?"

" _Sh!_ " The detective hushed him instantly, keeping his eyes locked on the doorway; John turned to look as well, curious as to what had Sherlock on such high alert...ah, _there_ it was, he heard it now...footsteps, and they were getting progressively louder. His hand grasped at the other man's shirt tightly as he held his breath...

A shadow came into view through the small, frosted glass window, and the knob rattled. John felt a hot surge of panic rising into his throat, and then the knob rattled again, and he felt the panic edge back...he'd forgotten that Sherlock had locked the door behind him earlier. The doctor tried to will his heartbeat back down to normal as a knock came from the other side of the door, followed by a voice...Sarah's voice; "John?...Sherlock?...I, um, just wanted to let you know that we're back, so we don't, uh, just so we don't...interrupt anything."

Sherlock's lip curled into a vicious sneer; "I asked for an hour and a half of privacy, you're supposed to be gone another forty-five minutes!" he barked, causing John to snap his gaze back to the detective... _'Back? Privacy?...'_ "You mean, they weren't here?" he whispered incredulously.

The detective was still glaring at the doorway; "Of course not; I paid Sarah and...whoever that other girl is fifty pounds each to get lost for an extended lunch hour," he muttered absently.

John only stared at him, his mouth hanging open in amazement...so, no one had heard?...

_**No one** had heard!!!_

While John was having his little epiphany, Sherlock was listening to Sarah's protest of how taking that much time away was "highly unethical conduct!"..."You didn't consider it very 'unethical' when you took the money!" he snapped again, silencing her. "We'll be a few more minutes, if you don't _mind_ ," he added snidely, and snorted at the feeble apology she offered through the door before her blurred outline moved away. Sherlock huffed in aggravation and hitched John higher on his hip, before finally noticing the expression on his little hobbit's face; "...What's the matter?" he asked, seemingly taken aback.

John was gazing at him with dreamy, adoring eyes; "You...you emptied out a whole building, just for me?"

"Well, of course!" the detective replied, still utterly lost on John's reaction. "I wasn't going to put your whole professional career at risk and humiliate you in front of your colleagues...that wouldn't be very nice of me, would it," he said, and kissed the little doctor on the cheek as he carried him over to the small sink at the back of the room. "Here, age up a bit while we wash your face, then we'll go home and have a proper 'Jawn' day, yeah?"

John nodded as he was set back on his feet and swallowed back a whimper as his pants and trousers were eased back up over his bum, and Sherlock murmured quiet consolements. "So, the brush," he said at last, while his eyes and cheeks were dabbed at with a cool, wet paper towel, "...that was just a bluff?"

"Hmm, not entirely," Sherlock said, holding the wet towel over each eye carefully, hoping to soothe some of the obvious redness. "Sarah has long hair that always looks maintained; she's bound to have one somewhere around her desk."

"You would have...?"

"The abject horror of being overheard had you sufficiently compliant...I just needed one more push in the right direction," the man said, moving his hand away from John's eye and letting him blink back into focus, "...but I will _not_ be deterred from using one in the future, if need be," he added, giving John a look that dared him to test that theory.

John's mouth went dry as he nodded again, and unconsciously reached back to rub his bum...he could feel the heat still radiating from it, even through the denim. He'd never had anything harder than someone's hand strike him in that particular region, so he didn't know what a brush would feel like...and he didn't _want_ to know. "Yes, sir...understood."

Sherlock smiled and placed a soft kiss on his lips while he had John's face still cupped in one hand and stroked the tender skin under one eye with the pad of his thumb; "That's my good little soldier," he said, and took a step around John. "Gather the rest of your things and we'll--" The detective, who'd been reaching for his own coat, stopped and looked at John; "...Your hiccups have stopped," he said, his voice laced with disappointment.

The doctor was in the process of straightening his mussed hair with his fingers while looking into the small mirror above the sink, and he paused as well, waiting for the strange bubbling sensation to rise in his chest again...no, nothing. "Huh, I guess they did," he said, and walked to his desk to collect his phone and jacket.

"But what could have caused...? No, wait," Sherlock said, with a gleam in his eye...a gleam that usually spelled out trouble for anyone caught in it's crosshairs. "...Did Jawn get scared, hm? Did mean old Sarah scare the baby, banging on the door like that?"

John shot him a soul-withering look before focusing on several small items on top of his desk, moving them this way and that; "...Shut _up._ "

Sherlock pretended not to hear him. "Does Da' need to go put her in time-out?...maybe give her a spanking as well, for not listening and coming back before she was told?"

Sherlock...was a _merciless_ man when they were both in adult mindsets. John flushed a fashionable shade of what Sherlock referred to as 'blood-orange' (it was fucking 'red', John told him more than once!) and covered his face with his hand...Oh, _God_ , did Sherlock ever know the right buttons to push. "You sick fu-- _bastard_ ," John muttered, and then had to chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

"You know I'd do it, too...just say the word, darling," the detective insisted, grinning wickedly.

"Shut _up_ , Sherlock!"

The detective laughed out loud at that, letting his booming voice fill the room and reverberate down the hallway; "It's so _funny_ that I can still use women to make you blush...honestly, John, you're one of the most frustratingly shy bisexuals I've ever met!"

John shut his eyes and stalked across the room, shouldering past the detective as he exited with his face still in flames (an accurate description for both ends); "I'm _not_ 'shy', I'm just not an exhibitionist, you bile-spewing _arsehole!_ " he whispered as violently as he could muster.

"Dear me, such language!" Sherlock chuckled, shutting the door behind them and coming up behind the doctor. "...Sounds as if someone's begging for another trip over Daddy's knee," he purred, closing his hands around John's shoulders and pulling him back until he was flush against his chest. The detective heard the shorter man's breath hitch, and he smiled a devious smile as he bent to nip at the man's earlobe...God, John could be so _easy_. "...Or maybe, Daddy should make Jawn lay down on his belly, with his sad, sore little bum in the air, and--"

John held his breath, shivering slightly with the effort to keep his slowly swelling cock down just a little longer...

"--and make him take a good, long... _nap._ "

...John cursed the day he ever thought to introduce Sherlock to the concept of 'dirty talk'. "Oh, you _evil_ motherfu-!"

Sherlock kissed at a spot low on John's neck, and allowed one hand to snake down his side and around to cup the slight bulge in John's trousers; "You really have no idea, love...remember the laptop incident?" he asked lowly, giving his handful a gentle squeeze.

John's spine straightened as every single nerve in his body jolted to life at the touch; "You wouldn't...!"

"Wouldn't I?" the detective replied and stepped away, leaving John alone in the middle of the hallway, largely aroused and humming with adrenaline. "You should know better than to ever 'dare' me, John," he added, and whisked away in a swirl of heavy black fabric.

The doctor stood rooted to the spot, his mind trying to work through a flood of different thoughts and feelings and emotions and hormones that the detective had muddied up. "Wait...no, wait!..." he called out before finally stumbling along after the man. "Wait!...I dare you...um, okay, I dare you to...to toss me off in the cab on the way home!"

"...No."

"Oh, come on!...you can't just leave me like, like _this!_ " John insisted desperately, gesturing to the distressing situation happening in his lower region.

Sherlock only smiled; "...Can't I?" he asked brightly, and pushed his way through the set of wide, swinging doors that led back into the main waiting room. "Oh, Sarah!" John heard him exclaim as he rushed to follow him. "You know, I had an odd thought earlier...you wouldn't happen to have a hairbrush somewhere in your desk, would you...?"

" _Sherlock!_ "

*******

It wasn't until the next day, when John sat down in one of the hardened kitchen chairs for a bit of breakfast and felt a leftover twinge in his bum that had him squinting and shifting in discomfort, that he even thought to look back through his phone and see what had started the whole bloody affair in the first place. He scrolled through his messages, the crease in his brow getting deeper and more pronounced with each new text; "Drinks...you sent me nearly forty texts and blistered my arse...because Greg wanted to go out for a pint?" he asked, turning his cloudy look to the man across the table.

Sherlock took a sip of tea and made a non-committal noise; "...You should have read the first one and replied in a timely manner."

John felt the corner of his eye twitch before standing up from his chair and leaning over the table; "You know, Sarah's brush is going to get one more use out of it before you return it...and it won't be on me this time."

Sherlock only smiled down at the morning paper spread out before him; "...Says the man standing there with a wet..." Sherlock paused and looked up, eyeing John's waist, "... _very_ wet nappy. Besides...the contents of messages weren't important; the fact that you chose to ignore them and throw a hissy about it was."

John stared at him, looking mad enough to spit...then sighed and deflated, and plopped back down into his seat with a squish. Living with a genius wasn't always fair.

Sherlock glanced at him out of the corner of his eye; "Be a good boy and finish your breakfast, and I'll let you go with him later."

John glared at him, but he just couldn't stay mad at the insufferable prick...he grinned as he picked up a piece of toast and nibbled at it. "Are you gonna come, too?" he asked.

Sherlock grunted and turned a page; "You get handsy when you're drunk...of course I'm coming."

John began to laugh...a genuine, hearty laugh. No, living with a genius definitely wasn't easy...

...but he wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
